This blog is (mostly) a near-verbatim transcription of my writing journal. Margins are the same as the journal. These are exercises, not finished products. Other types of writings will most likely emerge at some point.

Saturday, May 23, 2009

Journal 19 – Talons and Vicadin

If the heart only has so many beats I hopeI have the heart of a camel; though I thinkI may have the heart of a jackrabbit. Thoughit's said rabbits are good at something else. Thatmay be up for debate in my case; or not. Thecyan evening diminishes in glory when the newmoon rises to meet the dark night of the woods –where great horned owls talon people mindlesslywondering in pretence of fat-lopping exercise. Ascan be seen my pen died and had to be replaced byone less refined. Perhaps there can be a rebirth,though hopefully not by flame. My heart hasconverted but not in the religious sense though Iwould it were. It just now sucks the blood in andspits it back out correctly, without the wild erraticgyrations it fell back o. But my legs still twitch andache from their abstinence. Abstinence makes myheart grow fonder, or calmer. But it makes my thighsand calves feel like they have dead tissue – allegedlya painful thing. Vicadin is here to save the day. Myvoice is out with the moles in the ground tonight;recalcitrant in its adjustment to the new altered stateof being. Things are different when sober. Lots ofcrazy shit out there. Pathetic is the sound of thewords reverberating in my hollow skull like a million pinballs ricocheting off themselves inshattered confusion. A vision in words would be nice,reaching for the tree of style and plucking aleafy branch or two would be just like thederivative hack I am. Will my thoughts congealinto thought one day – one coherent stable anddeveloped thought? Instead of the jumbledthird world mediocre drivel that drips from thispen like drool from a slow 18-month old withno teeth. They should have come in by now.What's the word for longer than latent? That'sright – there is none – it's grasping at dandelionsin the wind. Wolfgang glares down at me with hisprodigious condescending eyes. Einstein stares backwith his pool-black eyes.